The Lies of the Fairytales
by silver thorns
Summary: i know what you're thinking. oh porcupines, not another one. but here it is, so get over it. very dark and wierd, like the title. R&R. this came straight from the heart.


alright, before you read this, i want you to understand that this is very dear to me, and came straight frommy heart. i agree with almost everything, however i do think there can be white deeds too (otherwise i'll have tocall zak a coward, which will happen like...never) so please review and tell me what you think. oh, and try to guesss who it is! it's very obvious, but...

oh, thank you to breaeden swordwind for inspiring me with 'Black Bird'.

that over, REVIEW! (well, after reading, obviously...)

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Searching. That's all I seem to be doing, lately. Just…searching. Looking for the answers. And no matter how close I think I am, there is nothing. Who am I, really? I hear people curse my name every day, hear them whisper it in awe, yet is that name my own? Does it truly belong to me? Am I even worthy of a name? What am I? Why am I here? Why is it that my body is not rotting in some gods-forsaken hole, like the so many I have slain? I just…don't understand. My heart is neither evil nor good, my soul is stained yet not tainted, my mind is clear yet full of conflict. It's as if I am neither black, nor white, but a strange shade of grey.

Yes, I am not like them, yet at the same time have so much in common with them. I have killed. And I, just like them, have never stopped to think that those I killed weren't monsters after all, or evil warriors invading our territory, but just creatures struggling to survive in such a merciless world. Because no creature, other than that of man, can kill out of pure pleasure, the thrill of the hunt, the feeling of power as they tower above the cowering figures, tasting their fear, savouring the kill.

I have heard many tales of brave warriors slaying dragons, stories parents weave to tell their children by the firesides. Yet always they leave out that the dragon had lost a mate to that same brave warrior, had stolen cattle to feed its young, taken territory to have enough room for its children. Nor do they speak of the 'hero' murdering the hatchlings out of pure bloodlust and cruelty. What is the need? Bury the children in lies, hide them from the dark truth that all heroes are just mercenaries looking for some extra gold. Keep them in a world of beauty and safety, built atop the bodies of countless innocents, lives sacrificed in the name of glory.

The holy wars are no better. Long ago, we were not native to this continent, and neither were the ones we fought. Before that, even before we were once one, when Airyglyph and Aquaria were under one banner, we were murderers. We saw land we wanted, so we took it. We saw people that believed something different to us, so we killed them. We burned them at the stake as heretics, we stole their homes, ruined their lives, raped their women, even their _children_, and all in the name of the Gods.

Of course, it's not told that way in the history books. It's not taught to the children like that. They feed children lies, giving them what they want to hear. No one wants to feel bad. So they paint a picture of a 'just' war, that they had to be killed because they were demons, agents of the devil, conveniently forgetting that those that died, those that burned, were just like them; _innocents_.

It cannot be denied. Our pasts, our presents, even our _futures_, are all written in blood. With each tale we tell, we create a new monster. With every story of heroes we tell the children, another generation of murderers is born. Nothing is black and white. We claim that they are evil for believing differently, yet in their eyes it is _we_ that are the monsters. Evil is just a perception, created by humans to ease their guilt, to give an explanation for the blood they spilled. And eventually, they begin to believe in this illusion, to believe that evil is evil, and good is good, and that there can never be neutral, can never be a middle ground. With our tunnelled vision, we refuse to see the suffering we cause because of this, simply because we do not wish to feel guilt.

All those killed in the name of honour, of glory, of the Gods…there are those that believe that the Gods are truly benevolent, yet if this is so, then why are there wars in their names? If they are truly as caring as the priests and priestesses say, will they not accept all form of religion, all ways of belief? But, if they wish to die to make themselves feel better, who am I to stop them?

Yet even though war is wrong, even though we strive for peace, it can never happen, simply because it is unhealthy. If rage is suppressed, it can mentally harm them, even drive them to murder or suicide. It's ironic, really. It is the same with poverty. We _need_ people to be poor, otherwise no one will work, the economy will collapse, and life will grind to a halt. We are caught in a vicious cycle of our own making, one we cannot escape from.

Before greed, before envy, life was never so precariously balanced. People hunted together for food, each working for their own share. Yet now we steal it for ourselves, hoarding it, killing any who ask for even one small crust of bread. We have become the old dragons of ancient tales, hoarding our treasures jealously, never satisfied. And so the stories become more 'righteous', or, more accurately, violent.

We are weak, we should not exist. We are destroying our planet by building these machines of war, and at the end, when there are but a handful of humans left in the wasteland we have created, we shall still refuse to see the truth. We are pathetic.

I have separated myself as much as possible from this foolish, self-destructive race, but it is impossible to cleanse myself of the so many stains of a 'glorious' history. And I am no better than them. I kill innocents, I kill criminals, or those I perceive to be. I cannot break free, for I am that which I despise. I am just like them – no, I am _one of them._ And to save my worthless life, another killed himself in my stead. And in doing so, set me on this road to truth, albeit at a dire price. So I try and fight, as I have always done, as I always will. So instead I insult it, I hurt it, trying to fight the inevitable doom brought about by our own doing. We were given minds, but this is the price of such a valuable asset. This is our payment for what was lent to us. We are the youngest of the earth's children, yet in the few million years we have been on this planet, in this universe, we have created more destruction than anything else. But maybe there is still a hope for our dying worlds. Maybe there is a chance for us to survive.

As if.

We enjoy pain, we hunger for it. It is the cause of our suffering; the need to see blood, pain, death. We _crave _it. It gives us a sense of power, it makes us gods. Maybe there is evil. Maybe some evil cannot be denied. Maybe it is what makes us rape women, murder men. I take back what I said. There _is_ evil. It is _us_. We are the only race to do such things, because of our minds. We are cursed. Evil was created by us. It's strange, really. There is black, there is grey, but never is there white. There is no pure act. My father may have died to save me, but only because he would not be able to live with the guilt if he hadn't. I hate to think of him this way, but it must be done. There is no white. There is pale grey, though. The lightest any human's ever achieved. But most often, we are black. In our hearts, in our minds, in our bodies, our souls, we are darkness. And we are evil. Except…perhaps…the children…but even then, we taint their souls with our fairytales of valiant heroes slaughtering something simply because it is different.

There is no hope. Yet maybe…maybe the children are truly the future. Maybe they will finally be able to see the errors of the human race. It is highly doubtful, especially if we keep feeding them lies. They must be taught the truth, somehow. It may take years, a millennia, a thousand millennia, but it may happen if we try.

Maybe…maybe…it depends really, doesn't it. On whether we can throw away greed, something not even the angels have succeeded in. If our own fantasies of the perfect beings cannot, then what is _our _hope? But hope, no matter how false, is better than all the jewels in the world, is it not? Maybe…but it will take time, something we are steadily running out of. We are nothing, a single mistake in the records of history. One day, we shall be erased, and all life will go on, undisturbed. Yet another thing the human race is afraid of. But if there is still time, then it's not too late. Hey, it never is, isn't that what they always say?

But our time will come. The day of judgement shall arrive, and the humans shall see just how 'righteous' they really are. And that day isn't as far away as we'd like to think. Not at this rate, anyway…

The children, once pure, are being tainted. They are the true neutrals, a perfect grey, who's each smile is as white as untouched snow. For that is what they are, before we use them, shape them into our model citizen, like we shape the snowmen. Whatever happens, if I child I receive, they shall not fall into this trap. They shall choose of their own free will. What they wish to be, they shall be. I have no right to take that from them.

Sometimes I wonder why we exist. Do we have a purpose, or are we just a mistake? The 4D beings created us, but why are they alive? Are we a game within a game? Is there someone out there, thinking my thoughts for me, writing them down for their amusement? Is it all just…a dream? Will I wake up one day in a mental hospital, dreaming up crazy stories? Or perhaps a writer, searching for ideas? Why am I here, why am I having these thoughts, is there truly a soul mate for everyone, and _who created all of this, and what created them?_ Are there truly Gods? Maybe this is all a dream. Strangely, I hope not. These past experiences have been enlightening, to say the least. Maybe…maybe…maybe one day, we will be taught the truth about the lies of fairytales.

Then again, maybe not. I could be completely wrong. Everything is made up of perceptions. This is just mine.


End file.
